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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702791">Impressions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraschiller/pseuds/lauraschiller'>lauraschiller</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Impostors Series - Scott Westerfeld, Uglies Series - Scott Westerfeld</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Frenemies, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Propaganda, Rafi and Trin try to outsmart each other, Sisters, Social Media, Spoilers: Shatter City, Twin Switch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:01:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraschiller/pseuds/lauraschiller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trin coaches Rafi on impersonating Frey, but being herself has always been the real challenge.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frey &amp; Rafia (Impostors), Rafia &amp; Trin Härkönen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Impressions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Cut!” </p><p>Trin Härkönen’s bossy little voice slices the air, interrupting me mid-sentence. She walks around me in a circle, stroking her chin. With her bobbed hair and silver-gray business suit, she looks way too much like a mini-Dona Oliver. </p><p>“I can see we’ve got a lot of work to do,” she says.</p><p>We’re filming a speech for the rebels, hiding in plain sight in Paz. People smile and politely step around our hovercam bubble. Since everyone has their own feed here, it looks like we’re just a pair of teenage ego-kickers shooting tourist vids, especially with the towers of Paz’s iconic pre-Rusty cathedral looming in the background. Trin wasn’t happy about my choice of location, but I insisted. Frey needs to know where to look, or my gift to her will be useless.</p><p>This is my plan, from start to finish, not Trin’s. She may be helping me, but I’m not about to let some manners-missing thirteen-year-old tell me what to do.</p><p>“What the hell are you talking about? I was the perfect Frey just now, and you know it.”</p><p>I’m dressed like her in gray workout sweats, although these are new; to be really authentic, they’d have to be baggy at the knees and stained under the arms. As long as they cover the naughty bits, my little sister couldn’t care less about what she wears. I’ve got my hair back in a tight bun like hers. I’ve been standing with her stance, talking with her voice, and the more this goes on, the more I want to crawl out of my skin. How did she cope with having to be me for sixteen years?</p><p>Worst of all, it reminds me of how much I miss her. It’s like pretending to still have a limb that’s been chopped off.</p><p>“That’s just the problem,” says Trin. “You were exactly like her. You want our audience to love her, don’t you?”</p><p>“Yeah. So?”</p><p>“So, Frey of Shreve may be a badass, but she’s also the least cam-ready person on the planet. You want to look real, not be real. You of all people should know the difference.”</p><p>My self-appointed publicist is an asshole, but she’s right. I swallow back the insults I want to throw at her. Instead I give her my best Frey bow, the one she used to give Naya before every training session, even knowing she was about to get the shit kicked out of her. I never understood that, but I can mimic it like nobody’s business.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” I say in my sister’s subdued voice. “Show me how to do better.”</p><p>Trin’s eyes bulge, and no wonder – that’s pretty much the opposite of what I would say – but she pulls herself together quickly and smirks. “Okay. First, the way you’re standing. You look like you’re about to either bolt or punch someone.”</p><p>“This?” I take up the stance she’s talking about: feet apart for balance, face to the camera, body angled slightly away, my right hand clenched into a fist at my hip. “She always stands a little bit sideways from whoever she’s talking to. Makes her less of a target, she says. And you know how she is about that pulse knife of hers. She holds on to it even when it’s not there.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s scary-making,” says Trin, scrunching up her face. “Stop it. Face the camera and keep your hands open. It makes you look - ”</p><p>“Honest, yeah, yeah, I know.” I drop the respectful Frey act and roll my eyes. “I’ve been training for publicity since you were in diapers, kid.”</p><p>She shoots me a look of pure evil. Note to self: remind her of her age more often, just to show her who’s really in charge. But not too often, since she’s still bankrolling me – a fact of which she reminds me much too often.</p><p>“Second,” she says, touching her headset. “Your voice. The mic could hardly pick up what you were saying. Enunciate!”</p><p>I grit my teeth. I’d like to hear <em>her</em> enunciate if she’d grown up hiding in secret compartments all her life, knowing that if the wrong person overheard her, they’d be killed like Noriko. But Trin doesn’t need to know that, as it’s none of her damn business. Privacy to mourn was always one of the few privileges my sister had, and I’m not going to take that away from her. </p><p>Besides, I like the idea of raising my voice on Frey’s behalf.</p><p>“Got it.” I nod. “What else?”</p><p>“That look on your face. You stare at my little Trin Three like it’s a gun barrel. Smile, for goodness’ sake.” </p><p>Trin reaches up to pat her hovercam, which has been floating at my eye level for what feels like ages. I think she cares more about that machine than any person; like most kickers, she sees it as an extension of herself. I’m tempted to destroy it when this is over, if only to knock that smug expression off the little brat’s face …</p><p>No. No. Snap out of it, Rafi. I am not my father. I have to stop hearing his voice in my head, or all this will be for nothing.</p><p>This is for my sister. I’m giving her a home. I can’t forget that.</p><p>“Frey doesn’t do camera smiles. I mean, she does, but only when she’s being me. That’s my job, remember? She only smiles when something makes her happy.”</p><p>She’ll never know how jealous-making that was, coming home with sore cheeks from grinning like a bubblehead all day and seeing her real thoughts written all over her face. She could be quiet, sad, even angry when she wanted to be. That’s why she’s the only person I can trust when she smiles at me, because I know it’s always real.</p><p>“So what does happy Frey look like?” Trin asks, with an impatient tap of her black loafer. “But nothing sentimental, please. This is still rebel propaganda.”</p><p>She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I give her the smile Frey gave me when she checked that I was safe, only seconds after killing that assassin. Her eyes glowed like the blade of her pulse knife that day. She’s beautiful when she’s deadly. </p><p>“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Trin smirks, nods, and gestures to her hovercam. Trin 3 starts buzzing around me like an oversized mosquito, shooting me from every angle. “Okay, from the top.”</p><p>/</p><p>“You really love your sister, don’t you?” she asks me as, about five more takes later and with the evening sun disappearing behind the cathedral, we finally wrap it up. “Either that, or you’re the best actress I’ve ever seen, to imitate her so well.”</p><p>I do love my sister, but I’m not brain-missing enough to say so. I’ve known people like Trin Härkönen all my life, and most of them are a lot more subtle than she is. She’s not helping me out of the goodness of her heart. She wants to watch history happen, and build up her own face rank while she’s at it. She’d turn against me in a second if she thought it would get her more viewers.</p><p>“What, like it’s hard?” I toss my hair. “You try living with the same person in one little room for sixteen years, and see if you can’t imitate her.”</p><p>“Been there, done that,” she says, with a bored shrug. “I’ve got a sister too. Byanca. She’s eighteen, which is pretty useful for legal purposes outside our city, but living with her was a pain before I went to school.”</p><p>“Five years older, huh?” I think of the age difference between Frey and me. Twenty-six minutes isn’t much, but it might as well be years, considering how it’s shaped our whole lives. I remember how she scowls every time I call her my little sister. “Must be a lot to live up to.”</p><p>Trin gives me a sidelong look. She’s not stupid. She knows what I’m doing, deflecting questions about my family life by asking about hers. </p><p>“Does Frey find you a lot to live up to, Raffles?” she asks pointedly. “Is that why you’re not staying to meet her?”</p><p>I knew this question was coming. In fact, I’m surprised it’s taken her so long. I could see her twitching with curiosity all morning while we went shopping for Frey’s soon-to-be apartment. Leaving comfort and civilization behind to join a rebel crew is very un-Rafia, and don’t I know it. I bought six cans of bug spray, just in case. </p><p>My nosy little satellite is never going to stop orbiting me until she gets an answer. Lucky for me, I know just what kind of answer she wants to hear.</p><p>I sigh, letting my shoulders slump and my head droop a little. “Maybe.”</p><p>“Really?” Trin perks up with badly disguised fascination. “I mean, wow, that’s too bad. Is everything okay between you two?”</p><p>“Kid.” If looks could kill, I’d send her crumpling into the sidewalk right now. “Nothing’s <em>okay</em> between us. How could it be?”</p><p>“Oh.” She actually blushes. “I didn’t mean … ”</p><p>“Nothing’s been right since we were seven years old. Frey got to be raised by a martial arts sensei who taught her how to be brave and honest and loyal, while I was raised by … <em>him!</em>” I call him Daddy to his face, but I refuse to say it when he’s not there. Besides, everyone knows whom I mean, including – especially – Trin. “How do you think I felt when she broke her arm in training and he told me it was all for me? She worked so hard learning to fight for me, but I could never fight for her. Well, fuck that! From now on, it’s my turn! And if you put even one word of this on your feed, you little parasite, I’ll make you wish you’d never picked up a camera, is that clear?”</p><p>I catch myself holding Trin by the shirt collar and yelling into her face so loud, a flock of pigeons takes off from the nearest rooftop. A wide-eyed older woman holds up her wrist as she walks by, warning me to check my feels. I don’t have any of those, but the crumbly’s got a point. I scare even myself when I’m like this.</p><p>I adjust Trin’s collar, let go, and back away from her with my best apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”</p><p> “Oh no, not at all,” she says politely, but I can almost hear the gears spinning inside her head. </p><p>On the one hand, I’ve insulted her dignity, and she’ll neither forget nor forgive that easily. On the other hand, I gave away more of the truth than I meant to, even if it’s still not the whole truth. My so-called Daddy had a point when he kept telling me my anger was a weakness. If I can’t learn to control it, soon enough it’s going to start controlling me.</p><p>“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, Raffles?” she says, patting me condescendingly on the arm. “Why don’t you come back to my hotel for afternoon tea? My treat.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>She links arms with me, which makes for an awkward walk given our size difference, and keeps a tight grip on me as we go. I must have scared her. I’m not sorry.</p><p>So. Now I’ve got a kicker who knows exactly how sanity-challenged I am, but it could be worse. I hate to think what she’d say if she found out that I’m looking for Seanan.</p><p>If I can find our brother, maybe Frey and I can finally break out of this trap we’re in. If there’s a third child of Shreve, seven years older and raised in the wild, who understands how it feels to be us without being us, maybe he could bring our family into some kind of healthy perspective. Maybe he could teach me how to love my sister without hating myself … or is that the other way around? </p><p>See, that’s always been the trouble with Frey and me. </p><p>We can imitate each other at the drop of a hat. It’s being ourselves that’s the real challenge.</p>
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